A Question of Thirst
by ResistPsychicDeath
Summary: "Grappling his fingers, entwining them with mine, I felt the scum of dried blood and sweat mingling on my skin... I was afraid that if I let go, he would collapse and crash into the dirt below us." D/G, first encounter & dehydration. Eventual slash! R&R!
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: I do not own the Walking Dead._**

_So, this story is written from Glenn's perspective. I got the idea from a friend, who said it would be interesting to see Daryl dehydrated and Glenn take care of him, especially if it was their first encounter. The setting is before Season 1, maybe a couple weeks before Rick Grimes showed up. There will be eventual slash, I promise you that, but right now I just want to focus on Daryl's dehydration. _

_Anyways, I hope you like it. Chapter Two will be up soon. (I plan on having around three chapters, btw.) R&R._

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><p><strong>Chapter One:<strong>

Just when I thought post-apocalyptic life couldn't get any more ridiculous, Daryl fucking Dixon had to enter the picture.

He arrived in a cloud of nicotine one dreary Saturday evening, swaggering through the forest with a rusty silver crossbow slung over his shoulder. A cigarette dangled carelessly on the end of his bottom lip, and he inhaled the smoke through his nose, breathing in the thick, musky scent. His loosely-fitted clothes were slathered in streaks of crimson blood — walker blood, I believe — and his greasy brown hair was drenched with afternoon sweat. A slimy sheen of persperation glistened on his forehead.

I didn't notice him at first. Not until he spoke.

"_Hey_," he had called out through the silence. Almost instantly, my head snapped up, my eyes scanned the area. I had been alone in the forest, picking suspicious-looking berries from a suspicious-looking bush, humming the lyrics to a song I didn't know. The last thing I had expected was to find a filthy-looking man walking towards me from the edge of the trail, the sounds of leaves crunching underneath the weight of his grimy leather boots.

I swallowed down hard. "Ermm... hi?" I managed to reply, an uneasy look crossing my face. Shane, who had been assigned the role of group leader at the time, had never bothered to mention what rules to adhere to when encountering strangers — especially ones with weapons. Digging for an answer in the back of my brain, I decided to do something that Shane would have never accepted. I stumbled up from my awkward crouching position, dropping the woven basket of questionable fruit at my side.

I let him stagger towards me without any sense of hesitation. As he neared closer, his details became more vivid. The filtering sunlight reflected every rugged feature, every wrinkled flaw. I must admit, I was so overwhelmed with how worn-out the man looked, it kind of frightened me. He looked crazy, like he was about to stick an arrow in my side and drag me back to wherever he had appeared from.

But hopefully that wasn't going to be the case.

When he finally made his way over, he stood in front of me with his hips tilted to the side, breathing in the cigarette smoke like it was air. "Name's Daryl..." he had said, his country accent thick and raspy. "Daryl Dixon." He offered out his hand, which was shaking and limp. After a moment of breif uncertainty, I took it, englulfing his difficult fingers in my own. For some unknown reason, they were covered in muck and had jagged purple bruises scattered amongst the backs.

At that very moment, I was aware of two things.

One, he wasn't going to kill me. He was frightening and repulsing, but he didn't impose a threat. There was a certain innocence and sincerity about the handshake that made me feel secure, even if the man was _clearly_ the filthiest being to ever walk among the Atlanta terrain.

And two, he was tired as hell. Now that I could examine him from up close, you could see the red blood vessels clouding around the whites of his eyes, the sweat literally leaking from his pores. The man was giving it all his strength just to stand up properly with the crossbow lugged over his shoulder.

It was also obvious that he was more than _just_ tired; he was exhausted, almost on the verge of passing out. I was afraid that if I let go of his hand, his body would collapse and crash into the dirt below us.

So instead of letting go, I decided that it would be the best choice just to stand there and hold onto his palm with as much force as I could manage. Grappling his fingers, entwining them with mine, I felt the scum of dried blood and sweat mingling on my skin.

This was _not_ how I was planning to spend my Saturday evening.

"Name's Glenn," I told him, biting on to my lip. I swear I could've chewed it off. "Are you _okay_? You look pretty... fatigued..." That was one way of putting it, I guess.

He took another drag of the cigarette, the odorous smoke enveloping the air that surrounded us. It was maladorous and stale. _This can't be good for him_, I remembered thinking, my eyebrows knitting together in frustration. I wanted to rip the damn thing out of his mouth and bury it under my foot. Couldn't he see that the fumes were just making him weaker? If his body was aching, his lungs must have been on fire.

"No," he replied, his bloodshot eyes searching desperately for mine. "Do you have any water?" he asked urgently, the corners of his mouth tugging into a serious frown. I could tell that was the only reason he was over here.

_Water_. Yes, of course. I turned my head to the side and peered over my shoulder, expecting to see my pouch of water propped up by the berries. On these types of occasions, I would usually bring it along just in case it got too hot. But to the other man's misfortune, I found myself looking for something that wasn't there. All I could find was that stupid woven basket, laying askew on the ground. A wave of sudden realization washed over me.

_Shit_.

"I don't have any," I admitted, my voice becoming panicky. I tried to compose myself, but my paranoia kept seeping through. I was never good at these types of situations.

Daryl whimpered a little, yanking the cigarette out of his mouth. He let the white tube fall to the ground as he lifted his fingers to wipe the sweat off his forehead. "Fuck," he groaned, "I _need_ some damn water..."

"I know, I know," I sighed, my eyes darting around the forest. From that moment on, I was painfully aware of the fact that he was now _my_ responsibility. If something happened to him, it would be _my_ fault. Sighing, I let my eyes wander around the trail.

Dragging him back to camp was automatically out of the question; it was too far away. The man would've lost conciousness before he could've recieved help. Then I'd be stuck with the gruntwork of hauling his half-dead ass around — something my puny arms probably couldn't tolerate. The man was fucking huge, after all. It didn't take a genious to figure that out.

"Do you know if there's a river around here?" I asked pathetically, still searching. There were a couple more places I could think of, such as the city, but they were too distant to travel by foot and too risky to consider. The last thing I wanted was a walker to spring from the bushes and take a bite of the man, especially if it was on my hands.

"If I knew, I'd be there," he retorted, his voice starting to crack. "I thought you would've known."

"Okay," I half-muttered, staring blankly into the shrubs. I didn't want to ask him why he thought that, so I let it drop.

At this point, I was becoming very impatient.

But just when I thought I was about to give up, the corner of my eye triggered on something — a hidden opening in the trees, not too far-off from the trail. The crisp, clear daylight oozing from the gap resembled a bright white light, guiding me towards relief.

I had found my plan. Now, if I could just get him to move...

I pulled my eyes away from the spot and turned back to Daryl, who was beginning to pant, his mouth hanging open. The way his tongue was drooping out made me think of a dog. His poor, crippling body was hunched over the ground and he looked absolutley miserable. "You think we can make it over there?" I asked him, tightly clasping onto his hand, even harsher than before. I didn't want to rush the man, but if he wanted fluids, we had to hurry. "There might be, like, a lake or something..."

"Yeah," he grumbled, straining to lift his head. Once his desperate eyes found the opening his panting became a little less severe, his composure a little less weak. He semi-straightened himself up and inhaled through his nose, focusing on the light. "C'mon..." he urged, taking a wobbly step forward.

"Are you sure?" I asked. "You could wait here—"

"It's fine," he interrupted. "C'mon."

For a breif moment or two, his eyes reflected hope. He carefully placed his feet on the ground, one after another, until he found his body moving across the landscape. A tiny grin spread across my cheeks. "Alright," I said, patting him on the back.

And to my absolute horror, that's when he fell, face-first into the dirt.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

A short, painful moan escaped the man's lips. It was muffled underneath the damp, dirty ground.

"Oh shit," I gasped, staring in disbelief. Did I really just do that? "Um... Daryl? Daryl?"

The man moaned again, whispering a few obscenities underneath his breath as he lay awkwardly on the ground. His limbs were spread out in a reckless manner, flimsy and weak. As he staggered to turn his head to the side, he said, in a deep, rugged voice: "Let go."

"What?" I said, a look of confusion crossing my face. "What do you mean?"

"Your hand... dipshit," he said, anger flooding his vocal chords. That's when I realized that I was still holding onto his palm. I had been holding on so tightly, half of the man's side was suspended and dangling from my arm, while the rest of him was covered in the earthy grime. It looked terrible. Not that it made any difference when it came to his appearance — which, as I'm sure I've mentioned several times before, was very unpleasant. All the sweat and filth.

At least he didn't land on his crossbow. Then blood would've been thrown into the mix.

"I'm not letting go," I affirmed.

"Fine," he said snottily, but then the look in his eyes softened. He wasn't trying purposely to be bitter; he was just hurt.

I scrambled to pull him back up, using every ounce of strength still remaining in my semi-small, delicate frame. He tried, too; pushing his legs against the ground, fighting to get back into shape. "I'm so sorry," I suddenly blurted out, guilt overcoming me. "Jesus... I try to do something right for once..." As I pulled him back up, I noticed that his face was twisted up, like he was trying to cry but couldn't summon the tears.

"It's fine," he said, eyes squeezed shut. As he spoke, his mouth crinkled. "It wasn't you... I tripped..."

I turned around and looked at the ground; sure enough, a long, winding groove ran across the floor. A root. He tripped on a goddamn root. Shaking my head in a bewildered manner, I fought the urge to sigh. "Well, that's a relief," I muttered, a smile creeping onto my lips as I watched the man straighten himself up again. It hurt to watch him in such agony, but I was glad that the fall wasn't fatal. And it wasn't my fault. "I thought I... well, knocked you over. When I patted your back."

"That's not possible," he joked, which sounded and looked out of place, mostly because his face was still distorted and his body was thriving with inescapable irritation. "The only person who can hurt me is myself," he added. He attempted to smile back, but it came out like a half-deflated grin. I mentally gave him two thumbs up for trying.

A part of me wondered if that was why he was here in the first place, overheated and thirsty — because of his own carelessness, his own lack of sense. I didn't want to ask him, so I continued to help him up. This was not a time for emotional conversations. The man needed fluids, or else the next trip would surely be his last.

Looking away from Daryl, my eyes darted towards the opening again; it wasn't any much closer than before, but I still had a sense of ambition. The beaming light continuously flowing through the gap made me anxious to get moving. My mind was set on it, my thoughts clouding up into one distinct intention.

He was going to get this water. He just had to.

"We can do this," I told him, my voice full of certainty. I just didn't have time to self-doubt — all I could angle towards was the possibility of a lake, or river, or something behind that damn split in the trees.

He grunted in reply, which I naturally translated into okay. He was on his feet now, still looking extremely weak, but very much alive. I wiped some of the grease from his forehead; it was gross and sticky, but hey, at least he was still sweating.

Wait. Was that a good thing? Or was it a bad thing? I didn't know anymore.

"Are you ready?" I asked. He nodded tiredly.

Side-by-side, fists braced in one, we started to shuffle towards the light once more. We fell into a pattern of sorts, taking turns watching the ground and the forest, making sure that both of us would be free from harm. In a way, I felt somewhat optimistic... which was strange, especially considering the conditions. Me and a fragile, near-dehydrated stranger walking towards a hidden opening, both of us completely unaware if there was anything worth finding inside it.

But when I looked over at Daryl, I saw the same hope reflected in his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like things were going to be alright.

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><p>When we finally stumbled past the long, never-ending trees and scattered shrubs, I bit my lip. My eyes fixated in the gap, I squinted through the brightness of the light.<p>

I couldn't believe my luck. I'm pretty sure Daryl couldn't believe it, either, the way his drying mouth was gaping open, his eyes growing wide with anticipation... or maybe that was just him in general, his craving for thirst becoming stronger and stronger by the second.

Through the blaze of the sun, I could make out a field of greenish grass. It wasn't the prettiest field; some of the patches were thick and brown due to dead and decaying plants. But besides that, it was seemingly adequate. There were no walkers, mysterious strangers, corpses, abandoned cars, or anything of that sort. We had really hit it off on terms of safety. But what did safety matter now?

There was water.

A small, shallow pool of the liquid, off to the side of the field. A tiny pond.

I didn't even bother glancing over at Daryl, who was now collapsing onto the ground. I guided him towards the pond as quickly as I possibly could, listening to the sound of his monstrous breathing behind me. Somehow, along the way, a message dawned on me: My half-assed plan, the one I had composed in less than a second, was actually working. It was strangely satisfying, knowing that I could do something more in life besides pick berries. In the back of my mind, I spat a hearty Take that, Shane, and continued on to the water source.

I didn't want to get too cocky. Not for the moment, anyways.

Once we made it to the pond, I helped onto the ground; I didn't want his body to shatter, and I decided that doing it gently would be the best decision for the sake of us both. Doing so, I slipped the crossbow off of his arm — it was heavy as fuck — and tossed it onto the ground. It went out with a bang as it lolled over to the side. I didn't show mercy to weapons.

"Glenn," I heard the man hoarsely mumble, drawing out my syllables in a typical Southern fashion. It was the first time he had said my name. "Please... water..."

"I know," I told him, leaning over his torso. Letting go of his hand, I urgently took my fingers and undid the buttons to his disgusting flannel shirt, exposing his tan, muscular frame. I had to admit, he had a nice chest, apart from the ghastly bruises diverged amongst his upper half. Just like the backs of his hands, they were also a striking shade of purple.

Cupping my hands up and dipping them into the shallow pond, I retrieved a bit of the water. It was cold and slippery. I slathered the liquid over his body, massaging his battered skin, hoping that it would absorb into his flesh. He moaned as I moved up to his neck, gradually making my way to his dirt-caked face. My hands smoothed over his forehead, his cheekbones, and finally, to his lips.

I didn't know if I was doing anything right, but it had to've been working; the man's breathing was starting to even out.

Cupping some more of the water, I lightly poured the fluid into his mouth. He drank it greedily, letting the liquid swish inside of his cheeks and down his overly-parched throat. I imagined how good it must have felt, especially under the radiating heat. "More," he whispered, his reddened eyes locked with mine.

"Okay," I said back, repeating the process. My fingers felt nice against his bare skin, brushing against his nipples, his neck, his chin... all the way up to his lips again. Whenever I did this, he stirred a little, his eyes filling with eagerness. It was somewhat awkward for me, but I could care less; after all, I was saving another man's life. That was all that mattered.

This went on for around ten minutes. I didn't want him to vomit up all the water, so I stopped feeding it to him for a minute or so, focusing more on his chest and face. In fear of evaporation, I buttoned his shirt back up. It was no longer drenched in smelly sweat, but with the cool pond liquid. That went for the rest of him, too, all coated up with the refreshing substance.

Now that some of the dirt had washed off, he was starting to look fairly normal. Handsome, even. It shocked me to see his creamy layer of pinkish skin, dotted with small-scale freckles underneath all the putridness. I let my eyes drift across him, absorbing all of his features. This time, I didn't see a crazy killer. I saw an average, worn-out guy with water dripping from the corners of his mouth.

"What?" he asked, voice still raspy. He noticed that I had been staring. "Is somethin' wrong...?"

"No," I said quickly, shaking my head, my cheeks flushing crimson. I wasn't about to admit what I had been thinking. "Are you okay?"

He did that half-deflated smile again. "Yeah. I feel better..."

"I'm glad."

"So am I," he said. "Now, can I have some more water? Please?"

Grinning, I did exactly that.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Wrote this chapter very, very quickly; might have slight ooc-ness/corniness/carelessness. It's hard transitioning from drama to romance, especially when Daryl Dixon is involved and you have limited time to write about it. But who knows, I might pull this off somehow. Anyways._

_R&R is extremely appreciated. Thanks to the few subscribers who have made my day._

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

After that, it took around an hour for the man to slowly pick himself back up. The entire time, I sat by his side and watched him as his sweating became less severe, his breathing evened out, and the redness slowly drained from his bloodshot eyes. I knew the man wasn't completely healed — after all, it was going to take a while for him to completely recover; probably another couple of hours, by the rate he was going. But at least I had been there to help him along, to feed him the soothing drink with my hands and assist him back into a semi-normal state.

It was amazing, how things had turned out. I was practically gleaming with pride. If someone had told me previously that I was about to guide a mysteriously gross, dehydrated man towards a pond during Saturday evening berry-picking and actually _succeeded_ at it, I wouldn't of believed them, simply because it was just so _ridiculous_. And that's exactly what it was — absolutely, positively ridiculous. What my life coming to, I had no idea.

All I knew is that when I got back to camp, Shane was going to be in for a lot of bragging.

Snapping out of my thoughts, I glanced back at the man, who was still lying peacefully next to the pond. His chest was rising and falling with the sound of his balanced breathing, and his hands were folded across his stomach with his palms placed flat on his belly. In a way, he looked... relaxed. Calm. I didn't want to ruin the moment for him... to be honest, I liked seeing the man this way. Collected; nonchalant. But as I glimpsed up into the Atlanta sky, I could see the big yellow sun fading into the clouds, the sky flashing colorful shades of red and orange. It was going to get dark soon, and I didn't want to wait for the blackness to start heading back to camp. Traveling through the forest at night is a terrifying experience, and I'd rather avoid by any means necessary.

"Daryl?" I asked, catching his attention. He looked up through a couple of stand hairs hanging across his wet forehead. "Um... I don't want to sound pushy, but... do you think you can get up? I thought that maybe you wanted to go back to my camp. Get some rest, eat, and heal... unless you have a camp."

He blinked a couple of times, thinking. "My brother... he has one." He shook his head, staring out into the distance. "Somewhere. Dunno where he is, but I really don't give a fuck."

"Why?"

A slightly irritated look crossed over the man's neutral face, but I knew it wasn't because of me. "He's the sorry _bitch_ that stole all of my supplies," he spat, "and left me out here for shit. It's his fault I'm even here right now." He closed his eyes again, and then muttered to himself, "_Never should've trusted that asshole._"

I nervously rubbed my neck with the back of my palm. "Oh. Um."

I absorbed the information, my view of the man becoming clearer. It wasn't his own carelessness or lack of sense that caused him to be so overwhelmed in thirst; it was somebody else's. He was the victim of this situation. At least that answered _one_ of my questions.

"I'm sorry that happened," I told him, reaching down to run my fingers through his hair. I don't know why I did it; it just seemed like the appropriate thing to do. "Especially 'cause he's your brother..._"_

He snorted. "Please. He ain't much of a brother to me." He took a deep breath, feeling my hand smoothing through the thick, wet tufts of brown. Blinking a few more times, he added in a softer tone, "I guess I'll go with you. Truth is, I got nothin' better to do. Just_ look_ at me."

I lightly chuckled. It was true; he was a big, wet, tired-out mess. I pulled my hand out of his hair and then extended it towards him. "Need help getting up?"

He shook his head again, slapping my fingers away. "I'm fine," he said, pushing his body off of the ground. It was less painful now that he had some fluids in his system. His muscles didn't ache as much as they did before, and that made it easier to move. The only problem was that his legs were still weak, and his knees started to wobble. "Crossbow," he said bluntly, pointing in the weapon's direction.

I picked the heavy object up. No way I was going to let Mr. Wobbly Knees haul it around; the thing weighed a ton. "I'll carry it," I insisted, throwing it across my shoulder, trying to replicate the way he had been lugging it before. I probably looked like a fool, but the man needed to heal. I think I could spare a couple degrading moments for his health.

"Whatever," he said, straightening out his spine. "Just don't drop it, kid."

"You got it."

"Do you have a cigarette?"

"No," I said quickly, "and I wouldn't let you have one if I did."

"Whatever," he repeated, trying to sound angry, although I sensed a hint of amusement in his voice. I don't know why he was smiling, but it seemed like the appropriate response to flash one back... you know, just for the hell of it. Plus, it had been the first time I'd seen the man actually bare his teeth. He looked pretty handsome, to tell you the truth.

"Let's go," he finally said, grabbing my hand unexpectedly — even if he had rejected it before.

I didn't exactly mind it.

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><p>"So... Daryl," I announced long after we had stumbled out of the field, through the gap, and into the familiar Atlanta trees. We were about halfway there, and my thoughts were buzzing in the silence of the forest. I decided that I had put them off long enough. "I have to ask you something. Well, a lot of things, actually." I barely knew the guy at all, and it seemed right to figure out who I had spent the last couple hours with.<p>

"Go ahead," he said ruggedly. The man was ambling at a slow, lagging pace. His fingers were still knotted with mine, but I was several steps ahead of him, even with the crossbow causing half of my body to slouch. "Shoot 'em. We've got enough time."

We certainly did, at the rate we were treading.

"Well... firstly..." I sighed, looking behind at the man's eager-to-know expression. "Where'd you get the bruises?"

"What bruises?" he asked, his eyebrows pushing together in confusion. I held up his battered hand; a wave of realization washed over him. "Oh,_ those_." He paused for a second, using his spare hand to pull down his flannel shirt and expose the purple marks. Automatically, my eyes drifted towards his upper chest, but I forced myself to look away, focusing on the bruises. "I was out huntin', and I encountered a couple of walkers... well, more like fifteen or so. Anyways. Got hurt pretty bad."

"Damn," I muttered, "that's crazy."

"Uh-huh."

"What are you, like, accident prone?"

He chuckled, pulling his shirt back up. "Yeah, I guess so. It's not the first time, though. Damn bitches are always on my tail." With that being mentioned, his eyes darted to the side, checking for anything suspicious lurking. Luckily, it was just us, small brown twigs snapping underneath our shoes.

Another question stirred. "How long have you been out here?"

He shrugged. "Couple days, maybe."

"Just wandering around?"

"Searchin' for my brother, actually. I wanted to kick his fucking nuts in for leavin' me out here without any stuff. And Jesus, it was_ hot_ outside..." Almost as if he were on cue, he wiped a thin layer of sweat off his forehead. As soon as we got to camp, I promised myself I would get him a nice, lukewarm bottle of water. "And then I saw you," he continued, squeezing my hand, "out by a bush, doin' who-knows what."

"I was... picking berries," I admitted. "For my group." God, I sounded so lame.

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well... I saw you, and I called out your name. You had this look of fear in your eyes, like I was some sort of redneck psycho who was gonna steal you or somethin'. It then occurred to me that maybe I wasn't as_ in-shape_ as I thought I was." He sighed. "I looked pretty fucked up, didn't I?"

"Hey, I'm doing the questions," I joked, elbowing him. He let out a short grunt, which reminded me that the man was still in pain. I figured that maybe I should keep my body parts to myself. And stop joking around.

"Definitely," I finally answered him, slipping my elbow away. "I was scared as hell... I thought you were going to kill me." Flashes of the once-filthy man went through my mind; his blood-soaked clothes, his greasy hair. The crossbow. I cleared my throat, and then added in a smaller voice, "But I could tell you were innocent... well, innocent in a sense. It was the handshake that did it for me. Killers don't go around giving handshakes. And regarding your appearance... you're not too bad looking once you get past all the dirt." It was originally meant as a compliment, but looking back, it meant much more than that. In a way, I thought the man was attractive. I wasn't ashamed of saying it; just kind of embarrassed that his looks appealed to me. Again, my life was turning out to be ridiculous... every second more than the last.

"Oh?" He grinned at the last part. Parting his lips, he mumbled in his typical rough voice, "You're pretty good lookin' yourself, kid."

I turned away from the man, hiding the crimson blush spreading across my cheeks. He probably wouldn't of seen it, anyways, but I wanted to be sure.

Looking up through the overhanging leaves, I noticed that the sky was especially blue; all the colors had faded with the sun, and the moon was starting to creep up from the trees. And through the trees... I could see smoke, arising from a small fire, its thickness swirling around in the night air.

"Look," I said, stopping in my tracks. He stopped shortly after, desperate eyes fixating on the fire. "That's it. That's the camp."


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note: Yeah, yeah, I know; it took me a long time to update. I'm lazy, and I'm not particularly unaware of it. This chapter is going to be leading up to the slash. It's short, but that's the point._

_Again, thanks to the few subscribers! Critique me if you must, and R&R is always appreciated greatly._

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

As we made our way into the campsite, I could feel around sixteen pairs of inquiring eyes glaring in our direction. Nearing closer, I watched as their expressions shifted from surprise to confusion, mostly at the sight of Daryl, who was trodding next to me with a perplexed look across his face. He didn't imagine so many people would be there.

"Glenn!" Lori suddenly called out, breaking the silence. "Where have you _been_?"

"And who is that?" Amy chimed in.

As much as I didn't want to explain why I had been practically missing for the past couple hours and returned to camp with a terrifying, half-dirty redneck at my side, I knew I'd have to anyways. They weren't the type of people to leave a situation be; chances are, they would be prodding me for every damn detail until I could no longer utter a single word. (Ah, camp life. Always a delight.)

"This is Daryl," I said, thereby giving the most awkward introduction in all post-apocalyptic history. Daryl didn't even try to put on a smile, or give a handshake, for that matter.

"Is he bitten?" a concerned Andrea asked, her skeptical eyes roaming over the man's his tattered clothes and gruffness. "He looks kind of... well..." She didn't want to insult the man, so she just stopped, hoping that I would get the jist.

I sighed. "No, no... I mean, _yes_, he may look a little... you know... but he's not bitten. Listen..." I began, glancing up at the eager faces, illuminated by the flickering fire light. I told them the story — how Daryl had desperatley staggered up to me, demanding for some water, throwing me off-guard completely. I particularly bragged to Shane in a subtle manner when I started speaking about the lake, and how I had fed him the drink with my hands. He seemed a little shaken at that, which made me feel a certain sense of self-worth. Some of the campers' faces started to brighten, as if they were proud of my actions, but others just looked weary, almost as if I had made a mistake taking in this piece-of-shit, good-for-nothing fool with a crossbow.

Either way, I couldn't of told the story any better.

"That's great and all, but what are we gonna do with him?" a less-than-happy Ed spoke up, eyeing us both. Our hands were still knotted together, and Daryl was starting to get very silent and a little uncomfortable at their pressing glares.

"We help him, of course," Carol intervened, but quickly closed her mouth when Ed put a forceful hand on her knee. She tensed up, looking down at her feet as the man started to mumble something to her. Ignoring them both, I turned back to the rest of the campers.

"I think he just needs to lay down and drink some more," I casually suggested, to which many nodded their heads in agreement. That is, with the exception of both Ed and Shane, who were naturally vulgar towards other human beings, even if they were suffering.

"Now, I don't think this is a good idea, lettin' people in," Shane said, drawing out his country accent. He did that whenever he wanted to lay down the guidlines of camp. To be perfectly honest, I didn't think we needed rules at all, given the situation we were in. But apparently, there was a proper way to do everything, walkers or no walkers. "I thought we agreed that we weren't gonna do this anymore."

Suddenly, Daryl perked up, starting to clear his throat. Sixteen pairs of eyes once again flicked in his direction. "I ain't gonna stay," he said roughly, looking Shane square in the eye. Whether he was telling the truth or not, I was unaware of at the time, but he put on a pretty intimidating facade. The whole camp looked a bit scared when he talked. "I just need to get some fuckin' rest, and I'll be outta here."

Shane nodded slowly, absorbing in the information, and I decided this would be the perfect time to give the poor man a place to rest. I looked over at Dale, who was perched over by Andrea, playing around with his watch. He always had a fascination with time. "Hey... Dale? Can I use your RV?"

"Yes," he replied hesitantly, glancing up at me through the flames. "And you can use the water in the fridge. Just use it sparingly, because we don't have alot."

"Okay... Hey, if you want, I can make another trip to town—"

He quickly shot me down with the shake of his head. "I don't think you'll be going anywhere soon." A few of the campers chuckled, and then he quickly added to ease some of my embarrassment, "For safety purposes."

I sighed. "Fine. Whatever." With that, I tugged on Daryl's limp hand, guiding him towards the RV. It wasn't too far-off; the dirty vehicle was just on the other side of camp, which was fairly small to begin with.

Once we were out of the others' view, I glanced over at Daryl, who was looking as apathetic as ever. "Do you want me to stay with you tonight?" I couldn't help but blurt.

He cocked his head to the side, his hair brushing into his face. I found his big blue eyes boring into mine, and I just... I couldn't look away. Not even if I tried. Another blush, a more obvious one, floated up to my cheeks. The heat prickled underneath my skin.

My mouth started running, running to distract me from his gaze. "I mean, you know, if you want me to stay. I'm not saying you're, like, _incapable_ or whatever. Just... if you need me..." I rubbed my neck with the palm of my spare hand. "I could help you... and stuff."

"Yeah," he nodded, eyes still locked with mine. "That'd be... _nice_." Such rare words from a man of his kind.

I swallowed down hard, giving a nervous grin. "Um, cool."

He finally tore his gaze away when we stumbled upon the RV. Without any further distractions, I focused on maneuvering him up the steep metal steps, into the messy area as fast as I could manage. It wasn't all that hard, knowing that the man wasn't completely drained. He held himself up for the most part. Once we were inside the vehicle, I set his too-heavy crossbow down on Dale's clutter-filled counter (my shoulder was almost crippled, by the way) and I laid him onto the mini-couch. He gave a satisfied groan as his bones collapsed onto the soft leathery exterior. I opened up the small white refrigerator, pulling out a plastic bottle of room-temperature water and unscrewed the cap.

"Here," I said, shoving the bottle into his hands. He just stared at it for a moment, and then lazily pushed it to his lips, water running down the corners of his cheeks. He finished the whole damn thing in less than ten seconds, half of it ending up on his flannel.

"Christ," he whispered, closing his eyes for a brief moment. When he opened them again, he saw my eyes drifting over his soaking chest. I didn't mean to. I honestly didn't.

"Glenn?" he mumbled, wet lips slightly parted.

"...yeah?" I replied uneasily, turning to pull another lukewarm bottle out of the fridge. I didn't care what Dale said about using them sparingly; no one ever listened to Dale, anyways.

"You know how you... rubbed the water on me?" he asked awkwardly, biting his lip, waiting for my response.

"Uh-huh..." I mumbled, thinking back a couple hours. "Why?"

The corners of his mouth lifted into a tiny smile. "Can you do it again?" he begged, watching my expression shift from uneasiness to just plain anxiousness. I couldn't help but think the man's words sounded a lot _naughtier_ than they were intended to be, which was probably pathetic of me to think in the first place. The man was still dehyrdrated, god dammit.

So why did I feel that he was craving a _different_ type of thirst? Surely the man wasn't trying to be... dare I say it... _lustful_. Or... was he? Is that one of the side effects from long-term sun exposure? Flirting?

Well, he did say that I was good-looking.

Leaning over the attractive man, I started to unbutton his flannel shirt once more, my fingers nimble and shaky. He sighed. "I take that as a yes," he said proudly, giving me that same small smile.

I couldn't help but return it as I ripped the fabric open, exposing his tan, muscular chest.

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><p><em>Yeah! Almost to the slash! <em>_I really hope this story makes sense, btw. Haha. Next chapter is probably going to be from Daryl's point of view, just to mix things up a bit. _


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note: Thank you to all of you lovely, lovely subscribers. You fill me with joy.  
>I know I said that I *might* make this from Daryl's point of view, but for now, I'll just stick with Glenn. It's easier. That's still not to say that I won't do it in the future. Please read, review, critique, hate, love, whatever. Be a grammar freak! Everything is appreciated.<br>_

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><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

Sprinkling a sufficient amount of water on my hands, I bent my fingers, ever-so-lightly to touch his soft, baring flesh. Instantly, his cocky smile faded into an O as he suddenly sensed the soothing feel of my skin pressing against his.

I sighed, allowing my own grin relax a little, letting the tips of my fingers move in circular motions, past his black dragon tattoo, all the way down to the creases lining his abs. I absorbed the man, taking in every little detail that I'd never had the chance to observe before. Freckles. Scars. Color. His overall beauty was intriuging; it swallowed me in.

This was much different than a few hours previously, because this time I wasn't trying desperatley to preserve his strength or keep him from falling to the ground. The way I touched him was unlike the way I had touched him before; I was delicate, slow. I took my time massaging his aching body because I knew that, unlike the hour or two we spent at the field, it wasn't crucial. He wasn't on the verge of passing out or giving into the dehydration. I was doing this simply because he _wanted_ me to — not because I _had _to.

And that made all the difference.

I drifted up his body again, moving my fingers across the same jagged purple bruises diverged across his upper half. He flinched a bit, his hands automatically reaching up to pull mine away. Was it possible that they still hurt? "Don't," he said softly.

"It's okay," I whispered. "I'll be gentle... I promise." He hesitated and then returned to his normal, relaxed state, dropping his hands to his sides. At this point, trust was almost necessary.

I traced the bruises with my wet fingers, soothing the marks in complete bewilderment. He cringed at first, but then gradually got used to the feeling. As I stared at the purple marks, I caught myself thinking about the man. Thinking about the walkers that had cornered him. Thinking about how he had somehow managed to get away with these ugly scratches, but still not getting bitten. It was amazing, really, how much Daryl had been through — and I had barely known him at the time. Fuck, I had barely even hit the surface. Who even knew what his life was like before it all went downhill? Or... maybe it was fucked up to begin with? From what I could tell, his brother didn't sound like the type to care, or give a rat's ass in general. Fingering the bruises, the little bumps and scabs that ran along them, I began to wonder.

Has anyone ever felt him like this? Has anyone ever taken this much time out of their day to make sure that he was more than just okay?

"Glenn," he whispered after a minute or so, his voice shallow. I broke out of my temporary trance, peering up at his face. It was straining, but not because of pain. He was... _pleased_. Damn. "I... I want—" His voice broke off.

"You want more?" I finished for him, reaching over to dab some more liquid onto my hands. He was about to stutter something else, but he quickly closed his mouth as I continued on again, rubbing, slathering him with the water.

I was blushing hard at the satisfied look plastered across his face; he couldn't possibly get any more obvious, which led me to believe that I was doing a lot... well, _better_ than I'd originally thought. Knowing this gave _me_ satisfaction, and I didn't just mean my mood. I was getting... a little flustered. I wasn't ashamed of it, just a bit overwhelmed.

But despite how much anxiety it gave me, I liked the sudden rush. I craved it.

"Daryl?" I asked, biting my lip.

"Mmmm?" he responded, eyebrows shooting upwards.

"I... well..." I didn't know how to correctly phrase the thoughts running through my mind; all I could do was press further, hoping that he got the hint. "Do you want... _more_?" His eyes met mine for the millionth time that day, and I could see slight confusion, with a sudden flash of realization dawning on him.

"Yes," he said, nodding eagerly. _He got it_. "Please..."

"Are you sure?"

He reached up, ripping the baseball cap off of my head. He threw it onto the carpet, next to a bunch of other shit that Dale had never bothered to pick up off the less-than-clean floor. Running his hand through my coarse black hair, he yanked me closer to him, so his face was perfectly angled with mine. He let out a sigh. "Why else would I let you do this?" the man asked, frustrated. "Glenn..." His eyes were filled to the brim with that same lust.

"Okay," I told him intently. He released the demanding grip on my hair, and I turned back to the counter, swiping the bottle. The plastic crunched underneath my shaky palm. _Was I really about to do this?_

Yes. Yes, I was.

I spread some more liquid onto my hands, letting out a small sigh. Leaning a little closer to his muscular frame, I plunged onto his body, my cool fingers engulfing his soft pink nipples. I was twirling around them with blatant curiosity. His eyes grew wide at the abrupt touch, hands clenching into fists as a moan rattled out of his chest.

"Oh," he said, lips parting. "Oh... Jesus..."

He was starting to breath hard; something I'd usually be concerned of, but in this case, I'd let it slide. I smiled as I continued tweaking, the word _unbelievable_ echoing on and on in the back of my mind. Because honestly, it was one thing that I had saved this man from dehydration and somehow got him back to camp, but it was another thing completely that I was now touching him — sexually. Covering him with water. Propping myself above him, our faces only inches away. And this big, beautiful, mysterious redneck was _liking_ it just as much as I was.

I nearly melted when I realized his nipples weren't so soft anymore.

When I was about finished and ready to move on, I removed the rest of his flannel shirt, tossing it next to my cap. I had an idea. "Turn over," I muttered, moving to give him some space. He did as I said, slowly adjusting his body so it was chest-down on the leathery exterior of the couch.

I climbed on top of him, our bodies fitting together like jagged puzzle pieces. I found myself towering over his slender back, dotted with a new set freckles, scratches, and marks. Fortunately, there weren't any ghastly ones. So maybe he wasn't_ totally_ reckless.

This time I didn't even bother slathering the water on my hands; I simply grabbed the bottle again and poured the liquid all over his skin, feeling no remorse whatsoever. He groaned approvingly, his face slightly muffled by the leather.

I clenched my own hands into fists and dove into his back, working out the tough knots between his muscles. God, if somebody needed to be sorted out, it was him. "I take it you don't get massages often," I mused, trying to fizzle out the tension in between us. Not that it was even remotely possible. Still, a boy could try, couldn't he?

"Not as often as I'd like," he replied, turning his head to the side so I could hear his voice more clearly.

I chuckled a little. "Maybe we can change that," I offered suggestively.

He snorted. "You're a naughty little Chinaman."

"I'm Korean."

"Whatever," he dismissed carelessly.

I smoothed harder into his muscles; kneading his body like it was dough. Flattening him out. Shaping him. I was lost in the endless patterns diverged across his skin; lost in the shapeliness, the arch of his back. I sorted through his broad shoulders, accentuating his curves. Suddenly an idea struck me, drew me in.

I bent over a bit more, inhaling his scent for the first time. Despite what anyone else would've thought, he didn't carry an unpleasing aroma of musk or filth. Not like the other guys in camp. He smelled natural; fresh. Like nature. Like a _man_.

Without hesitation, I moved down, pressing my lips onto the small of his back, absorbing myself in his flesh and bone. His intriguing scent surrounded me, and I inhaled him, sighing. My cool breath hit his skin and he shivered.

"Fuck," he murmured. "Glenn..."

The way my named rolled off his tongue was sensual, almost as if he were begging. It sent warm, fuzzy tingles running down my spine; tingles like no other. I kissed him again, drinking him in. I didn't want to stop. I _couldn't_.

I rested my head against him, feeling the sticky water against my cheek, my hair. I was starting to pant, too, my eyes darting desperately across him. "Daryl," I said quickly.

"Yes?"

A smile twisted at my lips. The man didn't see it, but it was there. "Let's get you out of these jeans," I said. He moaned in agreement.


	6. Chapter 6

_Another slice of delicious slash pie for Xynostaph.  
><strong>Warning<strong>: Slight ooc-ness on Daryl's part.  
>R&amp;R. <em>

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><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

**(_Daryl's POV_)**

I followed the kid's instructions, my desperate fingers working at my belt. It wasn't easy, but I managed to get my buckle undone, despite the fact that I was still laying chest-down in the old man's stupid couch and Glenn was practically _draped_ on top of me, his warm skin rubbing onto mine. It felt so damn good, I didn't want to move.

Regardless, I tossed my belt aside and let his tiny hands work at my jeans, tugging them until he exposed my worn-out red boxers. I could hear him giggling like a little school-girl behind me. "Calvin Klein, eh?" he mused. "You don't _seem_ like the designer-brand sort of guy." He leaned down to kiss the small of my back again. If it were anyone else, I would've replied with a snarky comment. But this was Glenn; this was a different story. I could feel the blood boiling inside of me as I let out another moan; this one was throaty. Rough. I liked the way his soft lips felt; I wondered how good they would feel pressed against my own. I guess I'd just have to wait a little longer.

Not that I minded all that much. I could've stayed on that couch forever if I had the choice.

He continued tugging down my jeans until I could feel his gaze fixing on my thighs. I _knew_ he was looking at them because whenever he studied me, he became silent. It was almost scary. I wondered what was going through his mind when he observed me like this. I wasn't all that good-lookin'. In fact, I thought I looked pretty fucked-up.

Glenn definitley was a looker, though. He was damn fine ― even for a slant-eye.

Wait. _Wait_.

You know what?_ Fuck it._ It didn't matter if he was a chink, or even a guy, for that matter. This kid had done more for me than any other damn person had done in my entire life; especially my brother. I had a_ legitimate _reason to get turned on like this. Screw everyone else. The only regret I had was not doing this on a motherfuckin' bed.

When he pulled the ratty jeans to my ankles, he started to remove my heavy leather boots, letting them thud onto the dirty carpet. It was taking way too long for my liking. "Hurry up," I whispered, my voice demanding.

"I'm trying," he whispered back. You could almost feel his anxiety as he dragged the jeans past my ankles, throwing them onto the ground. I was getting anxious, too. "Damn," he muttered, like he had so many times before. My heart was pounding and shivering like a drum. Desire flooded me. As truly desperate as it sounded, I craved for him to touch me again.

"Daryl," he breathed out, taking his cool, wet palms against my legs. "Does this feel alright?" He dug his fingers into my inner thighs, causing my back to swoon.

"Shit..." I gasped.

Jesus Christ, it felt more than _alright_. It felt... sensuous. Arousing. Jolts of pleasure shot straight through my body, and my boiling blood was at its peak. Yet I still wanted more. Always more. "Yes," I quickly answered, even though he already knew how much enjoyment I was getting out of this ― enjoyment in more ways than one.

His fingers caressed my thighs in circular motions; faster, stronger. Almost as if he were reading my mind. As he was doing this, he bent down, inhaling me again. He seemed to have this undeclared obsession with my scent; which didn't make sense, considering I had been practically hoofing it across the Atlanta terrain for as long as I could remember. Nevertheless, I didn't say anything to disturb his moment. "God," he said, "you smell... so good..." He kissed my right thigh, another jolt sifting through me. This time, I could feel a hint of tongue slipping out of those tender lips.

He really _was_ a dirty lil' Chinaman_. _Or _Korean_, if that made any difference. If this kid didn't watch himself, he was going to have a real problem on his hands.

I fought down a small chuckle. Oh yes, yes he was.

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><p><strong>(<em>Glenn's POV<em>)**

I couldn't help myself as I allowed my tongue to briefly taste his warm, smooth skin_._ Only a taste, nothing more. I wallowed in his flavor; he was _good_. Not sweet, but definitely not bad. Daryl seemed to of enjoyed this (obviously), because as soon as I pulled back to continue rubbing, he was practically asking for more.

"Come on," he begged. "Please..."

"Alright, alright."

I poked my head forward again and kissed his skin with my tongue, tracing along his inner thigh. I swore, the man could've died at that very moment, and he would've been perfectly content with it. He huffed out a large breath, his hands clenching into fists again.

As I let my tongue drift up to where his boxers were, I could feel his body pause. We were both very silent. The arch in his back stiffened out, and his breathing... his breathing stopped? "Daryl, are you―"

Cutting myself off, I jeered around to get a good look at his face, which was partly covered in his messy brown hair. His eyes were shut tight, a faint red glow highlighting his cheekbones. He still wasn't breathing; not even through his nose. "Um," I said, brushing some of the hair out of his eyes. He bit into his lip, eyebrows pushing down into a hard line. What was going on?

I took his shoulders in my hands and slightly moved him over, his right hip facing up. All I was trying to do was get a better look of his face, but instead, something else caught the corner of my eye. Something... jutting out from the front of his designer brand boxers.

My face flushed the deepest shade of red; my eyes grew wide with realization. Oh. _Oh_. This... well... this was something else.

Daryl's eyes fluttered open, his pained expression starting to soften at my confused gaze. He didn't even have to speak; the look on his face explained everything. I knew that he wanted this. I knew what he wanted me to do to him... and I wanted it too, I really did. I just... didn't expect it to get this far. I almost wanted to scream when I realized that the word _ridiculous _was starting to summarize my life.

Oh well. So_ much for a massage_.

Sighing, I leaned down, pressing my lips against his. It had been the first time that we'd kissed, or rather, I'd kissed him. Though his lips proved to be difficult, he managed to twitch them against mine. They felt soft, delicate even. It was a start. "You can breathe now," I said, stroking his warm cheek. "Just _relax_." He groaned, beginning to nod. He opened his mouth and let out a shaky breath, eyes watching me intently as I started to slither down his gorgeous frame.

Once he started drawing in air again, he murmured, "How am I supposed to relax... when you're on me like this?"

I giggled. "Fine then. Don't."

Moving down his chest, I left a trail of kisses against his warm, wet skin. I wanted to get lost in him again. The patterns and bruises scattered across his flesh. His mouth-watering scent that made me go insane with lust.

I sculpted his upper half with my tongue until I came upon his boxers. Inhaling his intoxicating aroma, I took my fingers and started to pry at the undergarment. He was breathing terribly hard above me, panting like he'd never panted before. I couldn't blame him. "Yes," he whispered. I peeled the boxers down until I saw _it_. Standing straight up, thick, just waiting for me to wrap my mouth around it.

I smiled coyly, suddenly taking him inside my hands. His back swooned again, and he let out a long, tortured moan that made my insides melt with ravenous desire. "Shit..."

"Are you ready for this?" I asked. I'd never done this before, but there was a first for everything.

"_Glenn_," he practically screamed, his eyebrows knitting together and his greedy palms itching to clasp onto my hair. He tugged on the thick black strands, twisting them in his fingers. He couldn't take this any longer, and frankly, neither could I.

I pulled him closer, closing my eyes and focusing on one thing, and one thing only. The last thought running through my mind right before I went down on him was that...

Well...

This really _was_ a different type of thirst.

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><p><em>One more chapter after this, but it's probably going to be an epilogue. Hope I left something to your imagination to linger on.<em>


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **_Thank you to all of the lovely users who have followed this story! This will be the last chapter; it's short, sweet, and a bit corny, but that's the point. I didn't want to end with sex or Daryl leaving, so this was the only other option. Haha._

_Tell me what you think ― I'd love to hear your comments, what you thought of this chapter or just the story as a whole. Critiquing is nice, too._

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><p><strong>Epilogue<br>**

"You think they heard me last night?" Daryl worriedly asked me the next morning, stuffing a forkful of mediocre eggs into his mouth; the standard just-add-water kind. We were sitting in a spot on the edge of camp, secluded from the rest of the campers. He was still a little uneasy around them, despite their attempts to mutter friendly 'good mornings' and 'hellos' ― even if they were the ones afraid of him in the first place.

"Nah," I said, looking over at the man with a grin tugging at my lips. I scraped my own eggs into my mouth and chewed up the powdery nonsense.

Surprisingly, he had cleaned up pretty nice; short, scraggly brown hair combed down, wearing a pair of Shane's old jeans and a spare white t-shirt. I had insisted on him wearing my clothes, just until I could get his other ones clean, but he said it would definitley confirm that we were up to something. Or, more precisely, "fucking". I rolled my eyes and told him okay, even if I didn't particularly care. He also pointed out that he probably wouldn't fit into my clothes, judging by the fact that I was half the body weight of him, all lank and skinny. _That_ I actually agreed with. The man was brawny; buff. Even if he wore a pair of my jeans, it'd probably look like he was wearing fucking _superhero tights_.

"So, are you feeling alright?" I asked, breaking out of my Daryl-Dixon-in-tights fantasies.

He chuckled underneath his breath, shaking his head. "Better than you'd imagine," he half-whispered, cocking his head to the side, giving me what could only be regarded as "twinkle eyes". For a minute, I thought he was going to lean in and kiss me, but the look on his face suddenly started to fade, being replaced with a more serious expression. "Glenn... where did you _learn_ all that shit?" he asked, bewilderment lacing through his rough-edged voice, the one I learned to like so much.

"What shit?"

"The _massaging_," he said. "You some sort of professional or somethin'? Some sort of _masseuse_?"

I chuckled. "Unless the zombie apocalypse somehow caused me to lose all of my post-high school memories... no. I delivered pizzas," I added with a shy smile.

"Oh. It..._ felt_ like you were professional..." He sounded a bit disappointed, but at the same time, a bit amazed. I had to admit, even _I_ didn't know I could be that good at... well, whatever we were doing last night.

I set my plate down on the ground, the fork clattering against the smooth china. Pulling my arm over Daryl's shoulder, I scooted closer to him and pressed my lips against his ear. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," I mumbled, my cool breath blowing against his skin. He sucked in his breath, a deep red blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"Fuck," he muttered, dropping his own plate to the floor. I listened to the sound of it rattle as his lips met mine in one eager thrust. This one was softer than all of our previous kisses; more tender. His lips were like jagged puzzle pieces fitting into mine.

"Thank you," I heard him say when he pulled back, panting for some air. "_Thank you_."

"For what?" I asked.

"For helpin' me," he clarified. "Out there in the forest. Bendin' over backwards just to get me to some fucking water. And... for last night... _shit_..." He swallowed down hard, closing his eyes.

"Your welcome," I said, pulling him in for another kiss, grappling his fingers with mine the way we had on the trail ― tight, afraid to let go. His eyes fluttered open and they met mine, bonding us in a connection like no other. Despite the fact that I knew nothing about this man, that he was older, intimidating, and a stranger... I could never be more comfortable than I was at that very moment.

Just when I thought post-apocalyptic life couldn't get any more ridiculous, I was starting to believe that I was falling in love with Daryl fucking Dixon...

And that he was starting to feel the same.


End file.
